


Suit Up

by pseudoneems



Series: The Modern Gentlemen [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles is ridiculous, Kingsman AU, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3549812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoneems/pseuds/pseudoneems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Erik joined the Kingsmen, he never expected to come to the attention of the agency's best (and apparently craziest) operative. </p><p>Kingsman AU (probably wouldn't make much sense if you haven't watched it)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit Up

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Приоденься](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476101) by [fb_xmen_movieverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fb_xmen_movieverse/pseuds/fb_xmen_movieverse)



> Thanks to [Shigtopia](http://shigtopia.tumblr.com/) and [hellohakuna](http://hellohakuna.tumblr.com/) for screaming at me about this!

The first time Erik sees Charles, he forgets him immediately. Just another suit passing by in a hallway of suits, and as far as he was concerned, nowhere near as fascinating or terrifying as how a normal looking dressing room had given way to a massive underground bunker, if it may be called. Fortress, more like. (Charles later tells him he was broadcasting the stream of expletives in his mind so loudly he was more surprised no one else could hear it.)

* * *

The second time Erik sees Charles, it’s across a conference table. Code name Galahad, he knows now. Don’t mess with him, they say, he’s one charming bastard, but completely crazy.

_“He once single-handedly took out an entire base, traumatised the survivors so badly no one could remember a thing.”_

_“I heard he once walked into a hostage situation unarmed, and in an hour had the terrorists begging for mercy instead.”_

_“I heard it was forty minutes.”_

_“Ten.”_

_“He’s a psychopath. He shot his dog in cold blood the minute he didn’t need to keep it around anymore.”_

Erik remembers turning the gun on his own dog just minutes ago in the next room as he takes the offered seat - he knew the second he walked in that it was a blank. But Charles’ face lights up when Hephaestus pads in behind him, and suddenly he wonders how he ever believed that last one.

At the far end of the table, Arthur offers him congratulations, but even as he nods his acknowledgment with all the poise and class he’s learned to imitate in the last months, half his mind is on the man with the piercing blue eyes slouching too far in his seat to be proper, smirk skirting on the wrong side of decent, and exuding the casual arrogance of someone so accustomed to privilege he no longer has to play by its rules. Erik knows it well. He saw it every day in the eyes of the children as he walked past their mansions on his way to school.

Even so, he recognises competence when he sees it, and it’s there in the firm handshake and polished syllables when Charles says, “Welcome to Kingsman, Lancelot.”

Erik smiles.

* * *

He doesn’t see Charles again for months, but the conversations he overhears keeps him in his mind.

_“The crazy bastard jumped out of a plane without a parachute last week and just barely managed to hijack one off the bad guys on the way down. Nearly gave Merlin a heart attack.”_

_“Remember that time he started a three-day riot to get out of a bar fight?”_

Needless to say, he's more than a little surprised and little bit embarrassed when without warning, Charles climbs in through a window in the back room of the mansion he's held in. His suit - bespoke, paired perfectly with a matching tie and pocket square - probably costs more than what the charity gala going on in the ballroom is going to raise that night.

He has the situation under control (he’s secretly fused the all the bullets to the barrels while they were yelling at him), but he still feels a dash of relief when all five guns immediately go from pointing at his head to pointing at Charles' instead. Besides, those plastic zip ties securing his wrists behind his back are going to be far easier to get out of if the person doing the cutting could actually see them.

"Whoa, whoa, gentlemen." Charles says, in that posh accent of his that Erik never manages to match. "Apologies if I'm interrupting, but you don't suppose you could point me back to the party without the missus knowing could you? Let’s keep this a secret between us, yea? Although I must say, whoever hired the household staff has VERY good taste indeed." He winks, and his face gives way to a lopsided smirk.

Erik thinks he must look just as confused as his kidnappers do now. One of them slowly lowers his gun and points a finger toward the door.

"Thank you."

Erik watches incredulously as Charles with his damn aristocratic bearing strolls across the room. He stops just inside of the doorway, turns, and cocks his head as if he's forgotten something and can't remember what.

"Actually, if you good sirs would do me a favour and put all your guns in the corner by the window over there, it would be very kind of you. Good. Now you sir in the brown jacket, please untie our friend. Thank you. You may all take a seat on the floor by the wall. Your ride will be here within the hour. Have a good evening, gentlemen."

Erik still isn't quite sure what happened when Charles walks him out of the front door five minutes later with a flippant ‘don’t worry about them, MI5 is on their way’, pausing only to wish goodnight to the hosts. He has so many questions he wants to ask, including but not restricted to:

1\. How the hell did Charles find him? As far as he knew, he'd lost both his tracker and camera-glasses-thing (he figured the names of things didn’t matter as much as actually knowing how to use them) in the ensuing scuffle when he got made in the bathroom.

2\. What the fuck just happened.

3\. Really? Three days? What on earth did he do?

4\. But seriously what the fuck just went on in there.

He doesn't get to say anything until they get a seat in a booth at a bar on the other side of town, because of course, Charles drives a BMW i8 (which devil did he sell his soul to to get his hands on one?), and Erik spends the entire car ride half-drunk on just marveling at how good the engine feels.

What he does say when he's finally got his mind more firmly under control with about half a pint of good old German beer, however, is, "I totally had that."

Charles smiles at him.

“I know”, he says, “but we wouldn't be having a drink now if I'd left you, would we?”

No, he doesn't say. Not exactly. Erik is certain he isn't far gone enough not to notice that Charles' lips never moved.

Erik feels a new string of expletives barreling from the back of mind to the tip of his tongue like a freight train at full speed, but a glint off his cufflink catches his eye and he slams the brakes instead. Right. Kingsman. Manners. He takes a deep breath and says as calmly as he can, "Will you please tell me what's going on?"

I think you already know, my friend, he hears in his mind again. He's more prepared for it this time, and yes, he thinks he understands now. Charles laughs in delight when he melts the loose change from the tip left by the next table into a tiny replica of his doberman that he sends running in circles round Charles’ pint glass in response.

You and I would make a good team, don’t you think? Charles locks eyes with him as he gulps down the remainder of his beer.

I think we just might, he attempts to send back, as loudly and clearly as he can manage, and cringes when Charles’ face screws up in a wince.

“Yea, before we get anywhere, we’re going to need to work on that.” Charles taps at his temple. “But for now, let’s just get out of here.”

* * *

Erik’s lost count of the number of times he’s seen Charles by now. But he knows the exact order of the favourite looks he has of him. Although, if anyone asks, he just gives a secretive smile. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. And if the stories floating around the agency now have his name on them too, well, stories don’t make a man do they.

_“I heard they brought an elephant to a gang war and won.”_

_“And that time they stopped a potential nuclear war with porn?”_

Besides, he kind of likes it.


End file.
